


Always be seventeen

by nerdy-flower (baconnegg)



Series: Vegamarch Chronicles [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: 5+1 Things, Backstory, Canon Trans Character, Damien's a widower, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Good friends doing their best and trying to get through life, Growing Up, Mary is queer as hell and I love it, Multi, Need more Mary and Dames friendship in my life always, No Cult Ending, Past Character Death, Slice of Life, Which might be cliche now, brief angst, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/nerdy-flower
Summary: Mary and Damien's friendship, through Damien's eyes, from their childhood to the present."It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson





	Always be seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> Quick notes: The story is told through Damien's memories, so he refers to himself by male pronouns throughout, including periods of his life where he would have been ID'ed as female. I thought this was the most respectful way to approach the story and avoid any deadnaming. If I've made mistakes, kindly let me know! I'm always open to learning. 
> 
> Brief, non-graphic descriptions of dysphoria, birth, death, alcohol abuse, and Mary's not-so-great childhood throughout.

**1:**  
His first meeting with Mary remained vivid in Damien’s memories for years afterwards. Sixth grade, just outside the side doors that the teachers never monitored properly. Face turning red from the chilly fall air and from screaming, screaming, screaming at the two greasy seventh-grade boys who had nothing better to do than snatch Damien’s backpack and ransack its contents. 

 

They were about to rip the pages from a library copy of ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’ for absolutely no reason when an avenging angel appeared. At least a head taller, topped with pale brown waves and clad in the same dowdy green and black uniform as Damien’s, but with the kilt rolled half-way up and an old leather jacket in place of his matching black peacoat. 

 

Jamming her right Oxford into the groins of both boys, the tall girl sent them flying, stooped to grab the sullied pack and books, then took Damien by the collar and hustled them both off school grounds and around the corner at record speed. 

 

Damien learned a lot of things about his rescuer as they crouched behind the shed of a nearby abandoned house. That her name was Mary Jansson. That she was actually in Damien’s grade, just in the other section on the third floor. That her parents recently moved because of her father’s job and she lived near the convenience store on Elm and Carver, too. And that she was happy to start walking home with Damien to ensure, in a word, “that those fuckwits will remember what their nuts taste like if they think about messing with you again.” 

 

Walking home together became walking to school together, which quickly became spending recesses and lunch periods together. Damien is initially just grateful for the security, but soon discovered there was more to like than just her bravery. The way Mary put on deep red lipstick as soon as they were out of view of her house, the way she could always make extra Rolos fall out of the vending machine, the way she ruffled Damien’s bobbed hair and called him ‘nerd’ in a tender way. 

 

Sleepovers followed, first at Damien’s house, preceded by an entire day of anxious tidying as no one had been up to his room since kindergarten, and by Mary getting briefly ungrounded for missing curfew again. Mary liked their big dusty house. She thought the antique furniture and his father’s collection of taxidermy animals were cool (though Damien certainly did not appreciate Mary making the raccoons look like they were mating). They watched ‘Ghostbusters’ in the den and Mary didn’t make fun of him for hugging his patchwork rabbit during the scary bits. 

 

Overnights at Mary’s house were less frequent. Her parents, when they did speak, always sounded as if they’d just lost on an expensive hospital lottery ticket. Their sideways stares made Damien wilt and blush when he unknowingly started eating before they said grace. Mary always shut her door as if she was casting off a boat on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. They buffed and painted each other’s nails and played Smiths tapes just loud enough to blot out the shouts and slamming doors. 

 

The only time Damien got seriously grounded was because of Mary. Sneaking off in the middle of the day to get their ears pierced at a bright pink and purple store in the mall, by a girl who couldn’t be much older than them. Mary’s forged absent notes might have let them get away with it, if they hadn’t decided to eat at the same two-for-one diner Damien’s mother stopped at before heading to her afternoon lecture. She scolded them the whole way home, both of them silent in the backseat, cowed but sneaking smiles at each other behind their hands. 

 

 **2:**

They finally shared some classes in high school. They wore the same uniforms but with neckties instead of ribbons, and rode the bus instead of walking. Damien delighted in developing an elaborate code so their passed notes could never be accurately read aloud by sharp-eyed teachers. Scribbling out coded maps of the unmonitored routes to the farthest bathroom, where Damien could quietly sidestep the stomach-twisting torture of P.E. and Mary could smoke without getting caught (most of the time, at least). 

 

High school was the hellscape they expected, where a thousand indignities were magnified by neurons straining to catch up to nearly-adult bodies, but Mary could always bring some levity. She very convincingly pretended to be hurt when Damien went to his grandparents’ in Oregon for the summer and returned two inches taller than her. She always nailed her impression of the ancient and embittered vice-principal who stormed around putting a ruler next to everyone’s kilts. Big-shouldered football players crowded them in the hallways and called them the vilest names, but Mary just coolly replied, “That’s not what your girlfriend called me last night.” 

 

Mary was invincible. She was sword and shield and unflinching courage in the face of everything. Damien never needed to know fear or humiliation. Even during their rare times apart when cruelty struck, Mary would return to pick eraser bits out of his hair, blot away tear-streaked eyeliner, and saunter towards whoever needed their face rearranged like her Docs were on fire. 

 

Damien felt inadequate sometimes, fumbling and imperfect next to Mary’s unyielding sangfroid. The language of gestures had to suffice, to let Mary know her friendship was appreciated, that _she_ was appreciated. Damien used the fashion class sewing machines and his babysitting money to bestow gifts befitting their bond and Mary’s fierce beauty. They walked with their heads held high, holes in their sweaters and nails strung around their necks, sharing snarky remarks about how they were so much more intelligent and interesting than everyone else. 

 

Adults missed the kindness beneath Mary’s ever-present sarcasm. They missed her intelligence too, never questioning her strings of C’s beyond her own inability to ‘apply herself.’ Mary couldn’t give less of a damn, she preferred to apply her brain to more practical matters, and Damien was endlessly grateful for her wisdom. 

 

“Hey, hey, shh- listen, men ain’t shit. That loser’s gonna end up sucking three-dollar dick behind a 7-11 in ten years, I promise. You’re better than him.” Mary soothed, while Damien sobbed into a pillow after the tenth grade love of his life, James McHale, had dumped him after their second date at Burger King. 

 

“Pft, I don’t even know what you were worried about! They suit you fine.” Mary rested her chin on his shoulder, her surreptitiously dyed-red hair that much brighter with the large, round glasses that would put an end to Damien’s headaches but add to his already painfully gawky appearance. “You look like a sexy librarian. But one that’s like ‘Yeah, I can recite Poe’s entire canon from memory, what the fuck are you gonna do about it, you witless worm?’” 

 

“Dude, no- turn it on and _then_ step on the brake, it’s not gonna go anywhere, it’s in park. Relax.” Mary took a swig of the bottle of Ouzo stolen from her parent’s liquor cabinet, celebrating her 16th birthday a week late while Damien desperately tried to maneuver the second-hand Chevy Mary’s father had begrudgingly trusted her with. The spindly branches of the conservation area’s trees scrape the windows as the car shudders forward. “Wow, you actually got it into gear, sweet. Now, drive in circles till this buzz wears off or I throw up. You’re doing great.” 

 

Mary’s fearlessness was contagious, at least a little bit. Or maybe it was just really hard to say no to the exceedingly cute French-Canadian transfer student who shuffled up to his locker and mumbled about how Damien’s English presentation about Wollstonecraft and 19th century gender roles was like, really deep and cool and stuff, and maybe they could possibly go see a movie and talk about books they like or whatever? 

 

Damien managed to say yes, all the while wondering if Jane Eyre had gotten butterflies when she was first approached by Mister Rochester. 

 

Mary took Damien’s three days of babbling in stride, smiling and mm-hmming to her friend’s increasing catalogue of Guillaume’s good points, like his big Bambi eyes and how short he was even though he was already seventeen and did you even hear his accent? So adorable, so unfairly adorable. Boys this cute were not allowed to exist. And he was goth, Mary, kind of hippie goth but honestly, that was really endearing because- 

 

On the fateful Friday afternoon, Mary didn’t head home on the bus as planned, but instead appeared between them, smacking her hand loudly against the wall in front of Guillaume’s face. 

 

“Listen slick, this is a first date. No one’s looking for a lifetime of commitment here. If there’s no sparks, break it off, whatever, but if you dare to fucking hurt my best friend-“ Mary sticks a long-nailed finger into the young man’s personal bubble. “I will personally chop your dick off and use your blood to refill my pens, you got it?” 

 

“G-got it!” Guillaume squeaks, backed by Damien’s ignored protests, his ruddy cheeks turning paler by the second. 

 

“Cool,” Mary turns on a dime, her heels clacking on the linoleum as she marches off, waving at them. “Have fun, kids! If I don’t see you get dropped off at exactly eleven-thirty, I’m coming to find you!” 

 

Damien quietly groans and covers his face as Guillaume regains his dignity. He tugs Damien along to public transit stop, speaking after he gets his breath back. “She seems- nice! Did you, uh, want to pick the film? I’m good with anything!” 

 

They ended up watching ‘Sense and Sensibility’ (Damien interests were strictly Victorian by this point, but the Regency era had its merits as well). Guillaume held up his end of the conversation on accurate versus expansive adaptations, said the black faux-silk trousers Damien was wearing looked ‘extremely cool,’ and after asking, politely kissed his cheek despite Mary obviously staring them down from her yard down the street. A warm calmness seeped through Damien’s chest, his mind oddly still for the first time in a long time. 

 

It took a bribe of extra-large curly fries and a lot of cajoling, but Mary was persuaded into letting one more person in on their note-passing code. 

**3:**

Despite Damien’s parents gentle insisting that he live at home and attend the university at which his mother taught (because that would absolutely work out well and not result in impostor syndrome whatsoever), Damien’s begging and pleading and scholarship-applying won out. He was bound for the one out-of-state college that had both Computer Science and Victorian Studies departments. A veritable ticket to utopia, away from their burnout high school and claustrophobic suburb. Best of all, Mary was coming too. They drank themselves blind in the woods with Guillaume on prom night, hollering into the night and high on the edge of freedom and ambition. 

 

Mary hadn’t needed to beg and insist, her parents seemed more than happy to send her as far away as possible, but World War Three was nearly started over her living situation. They were about to yank financial support rather than let her live anywhere but the one all-female, non-drinking dorm, until Damien’s father found a two-bedroom apartment that the friends could live in. Maybe it was the size of the place that led Mary’s parents to shrug and assume that their daughter wouldn’t get up to any shenanigans in that close proximity to her straight-A, straight-laced friend. 

 

Navigating the Scylla of college and the Charybdis of adult responsibilities while maintaining a live-in friendship wasn’t necessarily easy. Dishes had to be done, bills had to be paid on time, a mutual limit had to be placed on how many forlorn stray cats they could rescue from the alley their windows looked out on. But they were alone for the first time, blissfully papering the walls with band posters, staying out late at parties thrown by Mary’s painting classmates, and filling their pitifully narrow closets with enough men’s shirts and torn jeans to open a flea market. 

 

Guillaume was attending college in their home state, almost two hours away. Their relationship, unscarred by high school drama and an endless source of peace for Damien, survived by handwritten letters and AIM messages on the PC that took up one third of Damien’s bedroom. Not to mention weekend visits when they could manage, facilitated by the car he’d gotten for his eighteenth birthday and the campus clinic that let Damien avoid awkward parental conversations indefinitely. 

 

Mary had shunned dating in high school, claiming the collective gene pool of their town was shallow enough to break your neck in. In college, she was never short on attention, her spectacular figure finally freed from the boxy vests and school-issue leggings. Her flirting was equal opportunity, but Damien only made awkward eye contact with strange girls in last night’s clothes over his morning cereal. They were always exceptionally pretty, and a few were lucky enough to return for subsequent movie nights and weekend happy hours. 

 

“Guess who’s failing Introductory Italian!” Mary bellowed one Thursday afternoon, kicking open Damien’s door with a flourish. 

 

Damien peered up with a cringe from his awkward stomach-sprawl on his twin bed, calculus notes spread out all over the pillows. “I guess Mary?” 

 

“You guessed right!” She crowed, flopping onto Damien’s back, making them both grunt. “The hell is this foreign language requirement thing anyway? If I wanted to learn a language, I’d go somewhere with a phrasebook and figure shit out. Fuck this conjugal verb bullshit.” 

 

“Just take French and run all your assignments by Guillaume before submitting them. That’s what I did.” Damien keeps highlighting, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re heavy.” 

 

“And you’ve got a bony ass, but I wasn’t gonna say anything.” Mary rolled off, half-trapping herself in the gap between the wall and the mattress. “Eh, maybe. I don’t wanna bug Guy though, it might cut into his erotic postcard writing time.” 

 

“He doesn’t send me those kinds of letters,” Damien scoffed, fighting the blush creeping up his neck. “Besides, he thinks you’re a peach, he won’t mind.” 

 

“Aw, did he say that before or after he described using his teeth to-oof!” Mary laughs loud and rough, barely smothered by the pillow Damien’s smacked her with. She was quiet for a while, hugging the cushion to her chest and watching her roommate sketch out practice equations. “Hey, you weirdo, I love you.” 

 

“I love you too,” Damien replies almost instantly, lips curving with worry. “What’s the matter?” 

 

“Nothing,” Mary shook her head, bangs mottled black and brown from a serious dyeing error flopping in her face. Her deep-set eyes avoided Damien’s searching gaze. “Just- don’t move far away and have a million stupid babies, okay? Unless I can come and be the cool spinster aunt in the attic.” 

 

“I have no such plans, not to fret.” Damien chuckled, voice still low with worry. “You sure you’re okay?” 

 

“Mhmm, just tired. Wake me up when Xena’s on.” Mary yawned loudly and in a blink, fell asleep, tucked against her friend’s side. Damien sighed and let her be, returning to his notes and idly wondering if what he had with Mary was anything like having a sibling. 

 

In the first week of their junior year, Mary returned from her job of shepherding freshmen around the campus (how she’d been allowed to keep it after what she’d told them last year, no one was entirely sure) with a blonde, bright-eyed man about their age. He wore the same crisp men’s polos Damien always favoured for presentations, smoked Mary’s preferred brand, and was apparently the owner of the red motorcycle parked out front of their building. They were already deep in conversation when Damien arrived home from an evening shift at the laundromat, but they waved him in nonetheless. 

 

“This is some small world shit right here,” Mary snickered, knocking some empty takeout containers off a folding chair so Damien could sit down. “Joseph here went to the same Bible camp as I did. The one in Nevada where there was so many attempted panty raids-“ 

 

“That they built a six-foot fence, with _barbed wire,_ between the girls’ and boys’ camps.” Joseph finished with a merry laugh, blowing his smoke out the window behind the couch. “Literally the only time we saw the girls was at the end-of-summer dance.” 

 

“Which I always missed because I had too many demerit points. I got to sit in the chapel and pray the sins away while that bitch of a head counsellor watched our every move.” Mary took a drag in turn, putting her feet on the coffee table and nearly tipping the half-empty vodka coolers. “They probably had cameras in the bathrooms. That place was a fucking prison.” 

 

“You said it.” Joseph smiled and extended a hand towards Damien. “Nice to meet you, by the way. The name’s Joseph Christiansen.” 

“Take a wild fucking guess at what major his parents picked for him.” Mary grinned widely, giving his shoulder a shove. 

“Hey! They didn’t pick it for me!” Joseph pressed a hand to his chest, as if deeply insulted. “We came to a mutual agreement that it was either this or a lifetime of waiting tables, and I picked the option with a slightly better pension plan.” 

“Oooh, an opportunist and a pragmatist, look at you.” Mary laughed heartily and got up, making for the fridge. “You want a drink or no?” 

“Just one,” Damien called back. “I’m meeting my philosophy group in the library at eleven.” 

Mary whistled while pulling snacks and chip dip out of the fridge. Joseph turned to Damien and asked him how he liked living here and if the local bars were any good. Mary returned and the conversation changed to Joseph’s road trips during his gap years, including some truly ridiculous stories that lifted Damien’s weary spirits. 

He seemed genuinely pleasant, much more so than the usual guys who thought ogling Mary’s cleavage and giving monosyllabic answers made them amazing conversationalists. He had one ear pieced and the edge of a tattoo peeping out from under his sleeve, exceptionally tame next to the two of them. He was clearly hitting it off with Mary, trading stories of equally repressed West Coast childhoods and silent rebellions, but continued to include Damien in the conversation, invested in entertaining both of them. 

Eventually, Damien had to excuse himself to change out of his dull grey work clothes and into his comfiest black sweater and dark jeans, grabbing his faux-leather bookbag on the way out. He stepped into the living room just in time for Mary to slide onto Joseph’s lap and inquire in a low, tipsy voice: “So, are we doing this or what?” 

Joseph made startled eye contact with Damien and instantly turned red, though his hands didn’t move from her hips. “U-um?” 

Mary looked over her shoulder with a plaintive expression. “Babe?” 

“Leaving!” Damien high-tailed it out of their apartment, and didn’t see Joseph again until the next morning, when he passed him the shoes he’d abandoned in the living room. 

“Thanks- I mean, sorry about- just- thanks, yeah.” He coughed, trying and failing to cover the sizeable lovebite on his neck with his wrinkled collar. 

Mary appeared at his side, clad in only a double-XL Bikini Kill t-shirt, and hauled him in for a quick, smacking kiss. “Off to class now, wouldn’t wanna be late on your first day, hm?” 

Joseph flushed and retreated with an awkward wave. Mary leaned against the fridge, laughing as Damien shook his head and started making them whole-grain toast. “You’re smiling, you must like him.” 

“Sweetie, he’s a minister in training who eats out. It’s like finding a goddamn unicorn.” Mary dug around in the cupboard for what was left of their coffee supply. “I’m taking him home for Christmas to meet the folks, so long as he comes back.” 

Joseph did return rather quickly, and Mary smiled a bit more often. His perfect church attendance never interfered with his outings with Mary or late nights at the club. He was a moderately good dancer, he was charming, and he always made sure Damien got in a cab safely if he didn’t have the energy to close the bar with them. Most importantly, from Damien’s furtive observations, his attentions to Mary were singular. Even though they both liked to flirt, sometimes with the same person at the same time, she was always his priority. 

It had a brilliant effect on Mary. Her previous relationships were good enough, but short-term, never fully attached. Continuous, unconditional affection seemed to agree with her. Her tongue was sharp as ever, but her eyes were softer. In him, she found the perfect combination of safety and rebellion, respect and respectability. In her, he found a more sustainable outlet for his wild side and an understanding of his softer edges. 

“She really does like you, you know.” Damien remarked quietly to Joseph one night while they watched some old Christmas special, their respective partners asleep on their shoulders. Guillaume had come for a visit and shyly proposed, leaving Damien still heady and floating with love even as a raging ice storm made their lights flicker. 

Joseph had laughed quietly and looked away, running his fingers through his tidy blonde locks. “God, I hope so. I really hope so.” 

Their cats yowled for lack of attention as Damien tried to plan a summer wedding and survive spring semester, with some digital input from Guillaume while he scrambled to finish school early and arrange to move in as soon as possible. Mary went to bat with Damien’s parents, assuring them that their relationship was more secure than any of their career paths and that their dearest only child would be happy and well looked after. 

All the little details that seemed so important in the planning, including the massive argument with both sets of parents over the black and red colour scheme, disappeared when Guillaume’s shaking hands were in Damien’s, with Mary just behind them pretending not to cry into her bouquet. Joseph joined them at the reception, and it was just like any perfect Friday night, the four dancing until their feet blistered and the sun came up. Damien fell in a heap in their hotel suite, unable to offer more than a wedding night kiss, and drifted off with a heart full to bursting.  
**4:**  
Senior year was screaming about dissertation feedback, shoving Joseph into moshpits at concerts for the schadenfreude, and moving into a bigger apartment when Guillaume snagged a job at a forensics lab uptown from their old place. Damien rested in warm arms and was kissed awake every morning. Even when the drudgery of job hunting followed the inherently nostalgic joy of graduation, Damien’s life felt worth living. No matter how many instant noodle cups they ate. 

Damien eventually got a redundant, but paying and stable entry position at a tech startup. Joseph started his clinical pastoral hours. Mary bartended, printed zines in their kitchen, and answered phone calls from her parents with “If you wanted me to make money, you shouldn’t have let me major in studio art.” 

Their shared life was average but pleasant, until Damien started dashing for the toilet anytime one of them started cooking and nearly collapsing into a nap after work every day. It was easy to dismiss as some kind of latent gastro bug, maybe mono, but then the most heinous week of every month was a week late, then two weeks. After three, Mary volunteered herself for a late-night (perhaps closer to early morning) pharmacy trip. 

The tears streamed immediately, and Damien struggled to steady himself on the edge of the bathtub. Mary immediately knelt down in front of him, holding Damien’s face with impossible gentleness and forced composure in her voice. “Tell me what you want to do before you tell him.” 

“I don’t know,” Damien wheezed, shoulders shaking. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know-“ 

“Shh, honey, breathe. It’s okay.” Mary wraps Damien in the tightest embrace they can comfortably manage, crammed between the toilet and the shower-tub as they are. “I’m right here. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

Mary made herself scarce for the night, leaving a phone number in Damien’s shirt pocket. Hours of talking kept circling back to the same conclusion: They both wanted a child- just one, perfect baby to love and raise and coo over- and though the prospect of pregnancy made Damien feel ill, all other options seemed prohibitive to the point of impossibility. 

“Please don’t resent me,” Damien whispered into the black check pillowcase that was pilling from age. It was past three a.m., they were in bed, but much too wound up to sleep. “I’ll be so happy when we have our child, but right now I feel- I feel- I don’t know, like a passenger on my own ship.” 

“I would never think of it,” Guillaume leaned over to kiss a damp, pale cheek. His shaggy, unshorn curls tickled Damien’s skin. “It’s only temporary, eh? Feel however you need to feel, and I’ll look after the rest.” 

Damien’s body spent a sluggish nine months being scrutinized from within and without, taking in vast quantities of green vegetables and dark chocolate truffles while it swelled and shifted under multiple layers of clothing. When the pains finally came, Mary skipped out on work and Guy drove as if he’d robbed a bank. Damien felt fear deeper than he ever had before but couldn’t run, so instead cried out and wept and clung to clammy hands until in a great and terrible surge, one became two. 

Mary was the third non-medical person to hold the beautiful, squalling little boy that they soon named Lucien, tears dripping unbidden down her cheeks even as she laughed. “Holy shit, I can’t believe it. You guys, you really- God,” She held back a sob and smiled wider when tiny fingers wrapped around her own. “Geez, kid, you have no idea how amazing this is, huh? We’re all crying over you and you just want a rubber nipple in your face, you little brat.” 

Lucien’s early days are full of laughter, and his little upturned nose rarely goes un-smooched. Joseph spent most of his free time at their place, only paying the rent at his bachelor pad to keep their parents under the impression that he and Mary had just been holding hands and walking each other home at nine p.m. the entire time. For whatever reason, they kept buying it. 

“Shit.” Mary remarked over a sink of dishes one day, watching Joseph lie on his back on the living room floor. The baby propped on his knees, coursework and Biblical commentaries forgotten on the table while he sung the Superman theme as Lucien giggled endlessly. “I’m gonna have to get him a kid of his own before he steals yours.” 

“What, really?” Damien replied, pausing to rub at his exhaustion-reddened eyes. “Are you two actually-“ 

“It’s definitely going that way.” Mary said with a small smile. “Only way we can really carry on without getting written out of any wills. Besides, where the hell else am I gonna find someone that both me and my parents like?” 

“Well,” Damien started, massaging his temple to try and get through the unrelenting fog of his brain. “I suppose it is about time I repaid those maid of honour duties.” 

Mary snickered and flicked some suds towards him. “Damn right you will.” 

Having a newborn involved very little leaving the house, or doing anything else besides soothing cries and staring very intently when they weren’t crying, imagining a million awful possibilities. Late night feedings leave room for loose threads of wandering thoughts that harshly snap together upon Damien’s return to work. 

Every feminized aspect of Damien’s life became doubly so, with interest. Being known as “the only girl in the department” and all the associated delightful assumptions was compounded by colleagues snatching tasks away from him and urging him to ‘take it easy.’ Damien’s preferred tailored cloaks and vests being scowled at only with the addition of a sleeping baby strapped to his chest. A legitimate, lengthy argument with a middle-aged cashier about the long-term negative impacts of purchasing a pink blanket for a male infant who had just vomited all over his yellow one in the car. 

The final blow might have been when Lucien first managed a garbled “dada?” and Damien had felt an throb of abstract, painful longing so acute, the only thing left to do was to seek an answer and name the pit feeling that had long resided in his stomach. 

Of course it was in a library that he was finally able to name that feeling, to feel the euphoria of finding oneself in a familiar country. Books had always been his safe haven, a sacred, silent space away from everyday slings and arrows. Though the stories he found still left him wobbly- tales of people in tune with themselves since childhood - He couldn’t waste any more time couching the feeling in euphemisms and half-truths. He had to own who he was and move forward, or else remain afraid forever. 

Mary had always moved in queerer circles, and needed no more than a sentence or two before he was hugged, told he was loved, and that she was so, so proud of him. “Oh, don’t go crying on me, or I’ll start too.” She sniffed, wiping his tears away with her thumb. “What do you want to be called?” 

“Damien,” he managed, having settled on it during a lengthy staring contest with the ceiling. “It didn’t make the cut for Lucien’s name, but- it feels right for me.” 

Maybe parenthood had made him bolder, but he didn’t go shaking and sniffling to Guillaume as before, though the news felt much heavier. They sat down as adults, Lucien dozing in his crib, and Damien explained slowly and clearly, but did not waver. At least, not until the end. 

“If this isn’t what you want, I understand.” Damien’s shaking hands tightened almost painfully around thick fingers. “We both deserve happiness, and I know this isn’t- that I’m not- please just don’t-“ 

Guillaume, who occasionally liked to be true to the stereotypes of his heritage, leaned in and interrupted Damien’s words with an all-consuming kiss, only parting long enough to reply “If this is what will make you happy, then you should do it. But I’d be a fool to leave you, _mon chèr_.” 

Damien’s voice quivered, sounding painfully tinny to his own ears. “Are you certain?” 

Guillaume nodded and gathered him close, always managing to fit them together despite Damien’s several inches on him. “I don’t have a clue how this works, I’ll be honest, but- as long as I know your mind, I’m happy to follow the rest of you wherever you end up. There’s no one else I’d rather be with.” 

Damien smiled widely, then broke into wracking sobs that woke the baby and left him with a splitting headache. Visions of humiliation and heartbreak left him at once. This was merely the first step, there would be others much steeper, but he wouldn’t be alone. He had his husband, and Guillaume had his. 

With Damien’s blessing, Mary ran Joseph through Trans 101 on his behalf. It was just easier, especially since Joseph was often buried in work as he clawed his way towards divinity school and they rarely got to hang out as a group anymore. Though he did offer to babysit when Guillaume got hung up at work and Mary took Damien to go for his first T-shot. 

“Welcome home! Lucien and I made you a little something.” Joseph met them at the door and handed him a wax paper-wrapped object while bouncing the dark-haired tot on his arm. “Well, I made it and he supervised, but he did a bang-up job, didn’t you, little guy? A regular sous-chef, hm?” 

Damien peeled back the wrapping to find a cookie larger than his hand, the icing identical to the one Joseph had made when they brought Lucien home; a stork with a blue blanket in its beak, and _‘Damien: Fearfully and Wonderfully Made’_ in white letters. He barely managed to read it before his eyes clouded over with tears. 

“Ah- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-“ Joseph was shushed by the press of Mary’s fingers against his lips. 

“He’s fine, just a little emotional.” Mary turned her smile on him, as brilliant as the sun. “Second puberty’ll do that to ya, eh Dames?” 

Work quickly became intolerable to Damien for a multitude of reasons. In a rare moment of anger, he quit before he could get himself fired. The area they were living in wasn’t the most welcoming either, and their loft apartment was rapidly becoming too small for three-and-a-half adults and a baby-turning-toddler. 

“Go,” Mary insisted when Damien came to her, stammering that Guillaume had gotten a better job offer up the coast. “For God’s sake, go. Find a place that doesn’t treat you like shit and go.” 

“But, I don’t want-“ Damien clutched her shoulder tightly. “I promised not to abandon you.” 

Mary laughed in his face and patted his hand, damp-eyed callousness without cruelty. “Honey, you’re crazy if you think you’ll get rid of me that easily.”  
**5:**  
Damien and Guillaume, after living out of a 1-bedroom walkup and a rented storage unit while Damien found a new job with a realty company, bought their first home in a friendly, vaguely quirky neighbourhood of Maple Bay. The former owner had staunchly refused to conform to the surrounding development, retaining the home’s original nineteenth-century appearance and ample yard space. 

“It’s like it was made for us!” Damien exclaimed, squeezing Guillaume tightly from behind as he quickly unpacked a box of plates so they could make dinner. “I feel like I’m in a Dickens novel!” 

“I hope not Oliver Twist,” his husband had quipped, smiling just the same. “Remind me how excited we were when I get sick of painting and plastering.” 

Joseph finally got his M. Div., but missed graduation in favour of his wedding down in San Francisco. Damien and his two favourite boys flew out to attend, of course. It wasn’t the riotous Bacchanalia Mary always claimed any wedding of hers would be, but it was a nice enough affair provided they stayed far away from both sets of parents. 

“Did they say some shit to you?” Mary asked, holding a bottle of champagne comfortably away from her off-white gown when Damien reentered the dressing room, looking a little pale. “If they did, just play this game I made up. It’s called ‘take a drink every time you wanna leave.’ I’ve got a three day streak going.” 

Prolonged, uncomfortable moments notwithstanding, Damien was proud to stand at his best friend’s side. He would have happily spent all day inside the space where Mary and Joseph said their vows, Mary’s voice light but sincere, and Joseph as charismatic as always, even when he stumbled over his words and made Mary giggle. The young man had spent the day creased and sweating from stress, but the enthusiasm with which he dipped and kissed her reminded Damien much more of the Joseph who would run home half-wild with Mary after egging the college president’s house. 

The time between the wedding and Joseph getting ordained and hired on at Maple Bay All Saint’s Church is filled by long phone calls. First about the honeymoon, the quality of hotel room sex, and how much of a pain writing thank-you cards was because like seriously, they got five blenders, do people not realize that they’re capable of buying their own blenders? God, just put money in the card and be done with it. Later ones about Lucien’s first days at preschool, the current state of the goth scene (watered down as hell, they both agreed), and current favourite television series, because one of the many benefits of married life was being able to afford premium cable. 

At last, they shared a tight reunion hug in Mary’s box-strewn front yard, separated from Damien’s only by the darkened house of a retiring man named Robert whom Damien had met briefly over the fence, not wanting to interfere with him packing up the car with his college-bound daughter. 

They spent many a tea-time at Damien’s and several weekend barbeques at Mary’s, Lucien bumbling around their feet and smashing toy cars together. Agnostic and inexperienced as they were, Damien and Guy even attended Joseph’s first sermon when he got to pinch-hit for the real pastor. 

Mary found work as an administrative assistant, where she enjoyed “holding the entire office by the balls” and volunteered at the animal shelter on weekends to get out of spending time with “the old church biddies.” Her and Joseph’s first anniversary passed, then their second, and their third, with no appearance of the kids they kept wallpapering the spare bedrooms for. Her father passed away, and they almost seemed relieved for the distraction of the funeral. 

Damien used some vacation time to attend a gyno appointment with Mary, even though the office made his skin crawl. They recommended a different procedure this time, after the umpteenth test offered nothing but a shrug and some more brochures about healthy lifestyles and natural conception aides. The car ride home was silent and filled with Mary’s aggressive cigarette smoke. “Er, have they tested Joseph? Maybe-“ 

“It’s not him, of course it’s not him. He’s got sperm like Olympic gold medalists.” Mary leaned against the window. “You should hear the fucking phone calls I’m getting, the advice never fucking stops. Like if I don’t get knocked up by Fourth of July weekend, they’re gonna dunk me in the river to see if I’m a witch.” 

“Well you most definitely are, but I don’t see what that has to do with fertility.” 

That got a feeble laugh, followed by a sigh. “These fuckin’ people, man.” 

Damien had nothing to offer, nothing that would help, so he rubbed her knee and quietly added “I know, I’m sorry.” 

Another year and another unpleasant round of pharmaceuticals does result in what Joseph immediately dubs their ‘miracle baby.’ A pouty-faced little blonde boy that Lucien finds significantly less interesting than video games, but whom Damien and Guillaume are proud to call their godson. Despite Mary’s misgivings about inviting the neighbourhood to ‘Christopher Christiansen’s christening.’ 

“When he gets to middle school, I’m shifting all the blame for that on you, just FYI.” Mary tutted, shifting so Damien can tickle a finger under the infant’s chin while Mary rocked him gently, his fussing cries slowly subsiding. 

“Aw, it’s a great name. It’s got character.” Joseph settled against Mary’s other side, ruffling Chris’ duckfluff hair. “You said you liked it.” 

“Before the meds wore off. You once promised while high to get me a pet giraffe, I haven’t held you to that, now have I?” 

Joseph simply laughed, kissing Mary’s temple before leaning to kiss the baby’s forehead. Damien caught a glimmer of pain in her gaze when Joseph wasn’t looking. She never said it, but Damien knew his dear friend was terrified. She would need Joseph’s unflappable optimism to make it through. 

Damien came to envy that sunny disposition in a deep, insidious way when tests came back with the worst possible results. When temporary leave became permanent disability leave. When pain medications became so potent that only nurses could administer them. 

The inner workings of Damien’s mind silently shuttered. Days and months were a series of verbs and nouns. Casseroles and flowers arrived. His parents flew in, minded Lucien and folded laundry. Neighbours smiled and tried not to look uncomfortable. Guillaume was his dutiful, endearing self to the end. Every important paper pre-arranged, every necessary word said, and even hours from his last breath, he had managed a feeble finger-wave as Damien sat down beside him. 

Damien arrived at Mary’s house a few days after that, not entirely recalling why he’d come over until he saw Lucien’s shoes in the front hall. Joseph stopped him in the kitchen, a ministerial hand on his shoulder and his face grey. 

“Hey, listen,” Joseph’s voice softened at Damien’s flinch. “…I know there’s absolutely nothing I can say to make this better, but I want you to know that if you need anything, we’re here for you.” 

That did it, for whatever reason. Damien fell forward on a wail that sounded nearly inhuman. Joseph froze until Mary waddled in, heavy with second trimester twins (the results of further medicinal interventions, but the irony of it all was lost on no one). She handed him a confused blonde toddler and hissed “Go, take them in the backyard, I’ve got this.” 

Mary held him for what felt like hours, letting him sob a big wet spot into her sweater, stroking his long hair with her swollen fingers. He always leaned on her, asked too much of her, especially now- It was all so unfair. It made him cry even harder. But Mary just rocked them back and forth on the cold tile floor, her deep voice gone reedy against his ear. “I know, baby, I know. I miss him too- I know.” 

More nouns followed that day. School. Work. Dinner. Phone calls. Gas in the car. Damien’s management graciously let him use up all his personal days in one go. He spent them parked on the chair beneath the living room window until Lucien came home each day and they would continue learning how to live around the emptiness. He felt no pull to do anything else. The house was too big and unfinished, it felt safer to be pressed against the wall. 

One day, a man moved into the long-vacant house next door. He was so dressed-down, it took Damien a while to recognize him. He taught at Lucien’s school, mostly the upper grades, had a son in the primary school by the playground. He was tall and handsome, sweating in the early morning sun as he carried each box off the small U-Haul. Damien numbly watched him drive off and return with an unusual amount of Ikea packages. He cracked open a few beers with a keychain as the day dragged on, he looked completely exhausted in body and spirit, but he kept going. 

Even after dinner, Damien paused by the window and saw him still, dragging flattened boxes tied with twine out to the curb. The details were a mystery to him until much later, after Ernest and Lucien had become part-time partners in crime, but it moved him at the time. The unknown camaraderie brought him comfort, and he hoped that someone would comfort the wistful-eyed teacher in turn.  
**+1:**  
“Man, what is it with you and the geeky types? Why couldn’t you date that coffee dad and get us free bagels?” 

“Mat is lovely, but he’s very happy with Julian, and besides, my feelings for him are purely platonic.” 

“Uh huh,” Mary takes a long sip of wine, leaning her elbow on the black varnished windowsill and watching Hugo drag a push-mower around his backyard, clad in only a faded, fraying pair of cargo shorts. “Damn, he’s hairy. Fucking him must be really exfoliating.” 

“ _He can hear you!_ ” 

“Not gossip if it’s true.” Mary says around another swig, glancing over to him. “By the way, give me the deets already. Hugo Vega: Good fuck, yay or nay?” 

“Mary!” Damien rushes to slam the window shut, making the casing rattle. “Honestly! If you’re going to be nosey, at least be quiet about it!” 

“Psht, when did you turn shy on me?” She aims a sly smile at him. “You used to tell me everything, hell, I could have picked Guy out of a lineup just by his-“ 

“I was young and virginal and needed confirmation of certain things.” Damien tuts, folding his arms like a child. “My private life no longer requires peer review.” 

“That’s cold, Dames, real cold.” She pouts, looking very effectively forlorn. “So, he’s no good, then?” 

“Goodness no, look at him. He’s a perfect gentleman, and- if you insist on me putting it in such crass terms-“ Damien has to bite his lip to hold back his laughter. “He’s most definitely a Shelley in the streets and a Byron in the sheets!” 

Their howls echo through the parlour, Mary nearly falling onto the couch as she clutches her stomach. She has to wipe tears from her eyes before topping up Damien’s glass. “Fuck, good for you, kid. One good nerd deserves another.” 

“Thank you, my dear.” Damien drops into the seat beside her, careful not to spill on the freshly cleaned leather. “What are your plans for this weekend?” 

“Oh, I dunno. Robert’s been quiet lately, I might have to go bar-hopping by my lonesome.” Mary pops a scone into her mouth. “Why, you building some shit again?” 

“No, my thumb hasn’t quite recovered from the last bookshelf.” Damien winces in remembered pain. “Isn’t Joseph’s birthday celebration on Saturday?” 

“Yeah, and that’s my gift to him; Staying the hell away.” 

“Mary-“ 

“Don’t, Damien, okay?” Mary sighs and polishes off her drink. “It’s my problem, not yours. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Ah, but I’m very much obliged to worry.” Damien settles his arm on the couch behind her. “It was a part of the blood oath we swore so many moons ago.” 

A thin smile. “I recall no such oath.” 

“I swore it on your behalf while you were passed out on the bleachers after the SATs, I wanted to save you the trouble.” Damien only partly represses a giggle. Mary chuckles, settles back and lets her eyes shut. 

“Don’t you see, Dames? I’m doing him a favour. If I’m not there, everyone pats him on the shoulder and tells him how great he is and goes ‘oh, poor guy, trying so hard with that trainwreck wife of his.’ You can’t buy _that_ feeling of superiority.” 

“No one-“ 

“You aren’t everyone. Don’t pretend to be to make me feel better.” 

The ice in her tone is cutting, as it always is. He has just enough nerve not to let the topic go this time. “Mary, my love, I hate to see you hurting. What can I do?” 

“Nothing.” Her fingers tighten painfully around the glass, her face pinches up and her arms pull in close. “Not a goddamned thing.” 

Damien sighs very quietly, setting his own glass down and gently taking hers away before coaxing her into a hug. Her shoulders start to tremble, gradually giving way to audible hiccups and restrained sobs. Hugo comes obliviously whistling through the door in the midst of it, immediately realizing his error and hurrying upstairs as silently as he can. Damien lets her go for as long as she needs to. She’s so rarely alone, he imagines she has little time for this, if any. 

“It’s all messed up, it’s all messed up,” Mary repeats, nearly whispering against his shoulder. “I can’t believe I let it get this bad, I’m so fucked up.” 

“Mary, that’s not true.” Damien says softly, rubbing her back in a facsimile of what he would do with a younger, more anxious Lucien. “You’re brilliant and strong, you can pull through this. I’m certain of that.” He releases her so she can retreat and clear the rasp from her throat, her eyes burnt a dull red. “I know it’s bad right now, but it won’t stay this way.” 

“Hah, that’s for damn sure.” She blows her nose in the deep purple handkerchief he hands her. “One of us is gonna make a move soon, it’s just a matter of who has the balls to shoot first. Place your bets now and do a bonus spin for the consequences.” 

He aches as he tries to smooth the locks of hair that had been stuck to her cheeks. “I’m sure you’ll work out a suitable solution. He wants peace as much as you do. You might even look back on all this someday as a positive step.” 

Mary’s voice sounds smaller than ever. “Fuck, I wish I could believe you this time.” 

Damien’s chest constricts as if a python’s wound around it. He feels thirteen again, small and helpless, as he takes her hand. “And I wish I could be of better help to you. You’ve brought so much good to my life, and I feel as though I’ve given so little back, especially now.” 

Mary is briefly, genuinely surprised, a near-extinct sight that melts into a kind smile. One that reminds Damien of allowance money and off-brand soda and endless nights. “Damien, you idiot, you’ve done more for me than anyone else ever has. I mean- shit, I don’t know where I’d be right now without you.” 

Damien clasps her hand, so slim in his, as tightly as he can. “Whatever you decide to do, whenever you decide it, I’ll be there for you. Anything you need, you can ask me. You know that, don’t you?” 

“Sure thing, kid.” Mary laughs, a bit weakly. Another tight hug, a kiss on Damien’s cheek before they bid each other goodbye until Sunday at the shelter. Damien prepares dinner, choosing not to know whether she went home or to the bar. He knows the sting of judgement too well to inflict it on her. He can at least spare her that. 

Hugo comes slowly downstairs as Damien is stirring the pasta. Damp from the shower and redressed in the clothes he keeps in Damien’s armoire. Kind, beautiful brown eyes find his and they kiss, momentarily safe from the exasperated glares of embarrassed teenaged boys. “Sorry for intruding earlier. Is everything okay?” 

“Not quite,” Damien leans back, caressing the warm arm around his middle and feeling another kiss against his shoulder. “But it will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first entry in the Dream Daddy fandom, I absolutely fell in love with this sweet, sweet game and these characters and just had to write for them. I'm hoping to write more soon! (Hopefully shorter ficlets because oops hello again 8k+ wordcount, and definitely more dads and kids next time!). 
> 
> I might have gotten all the way through writing this before remembering that the drinking age in America is 21, then realized Mary would probably definitely be down for making really legit-looking fake IDs for her and her friends. Don't drink underage, kids. Also don't drink in cars, but do be a good friend always. Also, I don't generally dig the "threaten your loved one's potential partners" trope, but in this case it seemed fitting. 
> 
> As above, if I've made mistakes in writing outside of my direct experience, let me know! Damien's very close to my heart, I did my best to write him well and respectfully. Mary too, she's the gal pal we deserve and the one we need right now. 
> 
> I've seen a lot of interesting and different headcanons for Damien's previous partner, Guillaume's just mine. Also brief cameo from Julian, my dadsona. He's a dork and I love him and he might get some speaking lines next time! I have Damien and Mary's birth year as 1979 loosely in my head, I hope you enjoyed their mid-90's teenage selves as much as I did. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! And I apologize for that Shelley and Byron joke from the bottom of my heart, I really do.


End file.
